Saturday, May 17, 2008

Countdown to the Royal Divorce - Part 19

You will all have been in sympathy with me these last few days because of the enormous pressure that I have been under to attend today’s event at Windsor. The telephone has turned white with constant ringing, the air has turned blue, and my face is bright red through constant bellowing at various members of the family. “Fuck off, Anne, you daft bint”, I exclaimed, “I am not going, you know why I am not going, and I will not go even if you run out of Union Jacks”.

Some prize tosser gave the idiot father of the groom my number. I had sincerely prayed that I would never have to spend time talking to the buffoon again, but no such luck. The first time he called I affected to be the proprietor of the “Curry Favour” restaurant in Datchet. The twat called back two minutes later to order a beef Jalfreeza and a Peshwari naan. I told him the only meat we served was Welsh lamb – a reference to his ancestry that I have mentioned before, and that did the trick for a couple of days, until those memories had fallen off of the stack. When he called back, I followed dear old Bron’s advice and whistled down the telephone: that worked, “Sorry old chap”, he muttered, “got to go for a pee”.

Autumn joins in the frantic search for the sun-glasses.


Of all of the grand-offspring of Liz, I have always been strangely fond of Pete. He is totally harmless, and is quite good at filling up a room – I always counselled them to get him a career as an item of decorative furniture, but do they listen? Naturally he wanted me to be best man. “Sorry, Pete, my old flower, but haven’t they told you? Protocol demands that you get a professional", and I gave him the number of a gentleman called 'Jeremy Twink', who, apparently not only gives an interesting speech but concludes with an unusual dance.

I heard the bride-to-be in the background during several of these calls. She is a colonial management consultant. I had always hoped that Canada was populated by citizens too intelligent to allow this sort of role to be adopted. It probably cost them a fortune to find some gullible foreigner on whom they could dump her. “We need to synchronise our synergies”, I overheard on one occasion. “She’s really good with hors d’oeuvres” was Peter’s explanation. Daft sod.

Autumn continues to wear her portable satellite dish, so that she can keep up with the hockey scores. Today, the Moose Knob Sealclubbers are playing the Calgary Mincers.


Out of kindness, I finally managed to persuade Peter that he should record the Cup Final and watch it later, rather than listening on an earpiece during the ceremony. His team, Cardiff City, are the underdogs, and he is prone to join in with the chanting of the crowd particularly when things are not going well. I told him that the exclamation “Who’s the wanker in the black?” would not be taken well by the Right Reverend Fortescue, and nor would “You’re not singing any more” be viewed kindly as the Windsor Mountbattens struggled through remembering the words of the National Anthem.

16 comments:

MJ said...

In that hat, she looks like she's off to the Sex and the City premiere.

Ask Betty if you don't know what that means.

Vicus Scurra said...

Betty - what does that mean?

Betty said...

This picture explains everything -

http://blog.nj.com/entertainment_impact_celebrities/2008/05/large_city1.jpg

Vicus Scurra said...

Well, it explains the theories behind quantum mechanics, the structure of earlier medieval Greek verse and the offside rule in lacrosse, but what the fuck is "Sex and the City"?

Dave said...

Oddly, in one of those serendipitous moments that sometimes happen, whilst in a gents (put the apostrophe wherever seems appropriate) outfitter today, being measured for a suit for my daughter's wedding (1st November, you're not invited) no-one mentioned either the cup final or the royal wedding.

Is this a record?

KAZ said...

Mine's a vegetable Biryani.

Oh and I saw your comment at Dave's. I didn't know you spoke Lancashire.

Richard said...

At least his parents got married on a Wednesday and we all got the day off school. I don't know.

Vicus Scurra said...

Dave, no it is not a record, in fact it is commonplace, if, that is, you are asking whether your swanning over here and writing something that is of interest to neither man nor beast. Are you sure that you have been invited to your daughter's wedding? Does she value her husband-to-be so lightly that she risks introducing him to you before he has legally committed himself to her?
Kaz. My talents are virtually without limit.
Richard. You can take next Wednesday off school. I will write you a note.

Kindness said...

"Out of kindness?"

On my behalf? Wow... :)

Now what is a daft bint... and am I one?

Leni Qinan said...

Vicus.. you don't know what "Sex and the City" is?
What exactly? Sex? or the City? ;)

There you go:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sex_and_the_City

Anonymous said...

That hat looks like the kind of thing a horse wears to keep it from bolting! It screams "I don't want to marry this man!" either that or "It's all about me"

Vicus Scurra said...

Kindness. You don't know what it means? You daft bint.
Leni. Thank you for the information. I have declined to refer to it. I think that my views are better formed when based upon ignorance.

I, like the view, still said...

I always thought a "bint" was a pregnant camel

but I have been known to be wrong

I, like the view, still said...

(Sex and the City is a parody of the suburban, middle class, mid life crisis, BTW)(only with no direct references to Conservative politicians or merchant bankers)(it's not about life in the countryside)(I hope that helps)

ziggi said...

please send me a note, I would also like Wednesday off as I need to limber up for the match.

Donn said...

This obviously hastily arranged marriage is part of our Federal Government's 'charm offensive'
to distance ourselves from our present American Overlords who seem hellbent on getting all of us killed, and to renew suckling at the teat of our ancestral Matriarch.

Metaphorically speaking Blue Blooded British Boobs are 'tried and true', even if Horizontal Heliumized Hollywood Hooters get all of the attention.

I trust that this will be of some help.